“You moved here today?”
“Yes. I rode up from Tucson, was on my way to the clubhouse when I saw that car hit Max.”
She swings her body around to fully face me, one leg drawn up beneath her. “Let me get this straight. You rode up from Tucson. How long did that take?”
“Eleven hours, perhaps a bit extra for stops to stretch my legs.”
“Your luggage? That was what your friends took off your bike?” At my look of confusion, she explains, “I heard sounds, elastic pinging. Heard them struggling to get, what, bungee cord done up?”
“That’s right.” Her ears, her interpretation of what she’s hearing, are fucking amazing. I’m stunned she was able to tell.
She looks thoughtful, and her head moves to one side and back. “You spent all evening at the vet’s because I asked you to, then brought me home. Then came in to make sure I was okay.”
For the umpteenth time I shrug.
“Am I right?”
I feel like slapping myself around the head. Must remember to speak. “Sums it up, babe.”
“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Stupid question. Of course you are. How about I make you a sandwich? And I’ve got beer.”
“I’m alright,” I reply automatically. My stomach, seeming to have heard the mention of food, growls loudly.
She giggles, then gets up. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll help—”
“You stay here.” After issuing an instruction in a tone I can’t argue with, she strides confidently across the room and into a kitchen. There are sounds of something opening and closing, then two opened bottles are brought back and placed in the exact middle of the coffee table. Then she’s off again.
Beer. At fucking last. And it’s a brand I like. I raise the bottle to my lips and take a long thirst-quenching swallow. Stretching out my legs I hear my knees creak. Getting old. The couch is comfy, the back just the right height for me to rest back my head. Closing my eyes, I breathe out, feeling tension seep away.
“Your sandwich.”
It’s said quietly but is enough to make my eyes open. Pushing down on my hands I pull myself upright. “Nearly drifted off there for a moment.”
“That’s why I spoke quietly. Didn’t want to wake you if you were asleep.” Again, she interprets my unspoken question. “Your breathing, it was different.”
“You notice a fuck of a lot, don’t you?”
She resumes her place at the other end of the couch as I tuck into a ham, cheese and lettuce sandwich. Good shit it is. “You’re not eating?”
“I just had a piece of cheese while I was making that for you. I’m not hungry.”
I eye her critically. What she hadn’t added out loud was that she was too concerned about Max. She doesn’t look tired, just worried. Maybe it will take her mind off things she can’t control if I get her talking. I could talk about bikes, my favourite topic, or I could ask about her.
Choosing the latter, I begin. “So, you recently moved to Pueblo? For work?” For a lover?
“Something like that.” Her legs, which she had curled up under her, straighten out. She’s tense, I can see it. Okay, I don’t know her well enough to pursue a topic she’s uncomfortable with. It’s none of my business.
“Are you alright, I didn’t ask. Hurting?”
“I was just bruised and shocked, Beef. I’m fine. I’ve got a bit of a headache, but nothing too bad. Probably more tension than injury. And God knows bruises don’t bother me. I get enough of them. You should have seen my legs when I first moved in.”
“This your furniture?”
A shake of her head, making her hair fly around her shoulders. “No, I… rented it furnished. Didn’t know where anything was.” She chuckles. “Spent enough time on my hands and knees mapping it all out.”
“You’ve got amazing hearing.”
“Yes. I’m lucky that way.” When I think that’s all I’m going to get, she tilts her head on one side. “I don’t mind you asking, if you’re interested.”
I am. “Have you always been blind?”
Her head moves side to side. “I’ve got a condition called retinitis pigmentosa. It’s an inherited condition, but for generations it hasn’t appeared in the family. I was born fully sighted, but my vision started to deteriorate early on. I was about five when my parents acknowledged something was wrong with me. If they approached from the side, I didn’t notice them until they were right in front of me. They took me for tests and got the diagnosis. Nothing to be done, and eventually I’d lose more of my vision. Some people retain some, I’ve lost most. In good daylight I can sometimes make out shapes, but not always. I was lucky though. My condition is often related to another that also causes deafness.” She shudders. “Thank God I don’t suffer from that.”
“When did you lose your sight to the extent you have now?”
“When I was in my early twenties. You mentioned my hearing. Going back to when I couldn’t see people in my peripheral vision, I started listening more. Because I had some vision it helped to distinguish what made what sound, if that makes sense? It helped when I lost my sight entirely.”
“You have Max to help you. What will you do while he’s recovering?”
Her lips purse. “Be a hermit?” Her comment is followed by a self-deprecating laugh. “I have a white stick, but it’s not as good as a dog.”
Putting down my empty plate I ask, “Why not? Not all blind people have dogs, surely?”
“They don’t. Looking after a dog is too much of a chore for them, and they manage with just a stick. But have you seen someone waving one? Weaving it back and forth to see what’s in front of them?”
I nod automatically, then give myself a mental slap. “Uh uh.”
“Imagine a table. Imagine trying to walk through a restaurant, an unexpected chair pushed out in front of you.” She laughs again, a sound I find endearing. “The stick hits empty air if I’m waving it between the legs. Told you, I’m no stranger to bruises, tripping up or falling down.”
I can’t help it. I’m interested, but tired. I yawn.
“You’re half asleep. Anyone would be after that long ride. Rather than heading on to your clubhouse, why don’t you stay here tonight? I’ve got a spare room.”
I look at her sharply. “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Why should I?”
“You don’t know me at all. I could be an axe murderer or jump your bones in the night and molest you.”
That laugh again. The one I prefer over her tears earlier. It’s followed by chuckles, and then she can’t seem to stop. “I’m not afraid of you, Beef. I don’t really know why. Not offering to share my bed, but something tells me it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have your hands on me. Not an offer, but no, I don’t think you’re a threat. As for being an axe murderer? I’ll take my chances.” She chuckles again.
It wouldn’t be bad for me either. Except, I couldn’t take her up on the offer if she actually made it. Not when I’d promised Sally.
But a bed for the night, that would be welcome. Better than trying to drive through unfamiliar streets and locate the clubhouse in the dark.
I shoot off a quick text to Pal explaining the situation, then follow Stevie into her spare room.
Chapter Eight
Despite nearly falling asleep on her couch, the moment my head hits the pillow in Stevie’s spare room, I’m wide awake. The bed’s comfortable, the pillow is soft just how I like it. I’ve got the ability to sleep anywhere, but for some reason, I can’t drop off.
I can’t stop thinking how terrible it must have been for Stevie and her family to receive the information so early in her life that she was going to go blind. Does knowing help you prepare? Did she have counselling? She seems to be such a well-balanced person, proud of how she’s adapted, not ranting or raving about what she’s lost. I can’t help but admire her. In the darkness I grin. That comment about me jumping her bones not being unwelcome? That took me by surprise and sho
ws she’s no shrinking violet.
But in the same way I hadn’t made a move on her, she hadn’t on me. It wasn’t a suggestion to be acted upon, just put out there. Was she serious? Hell, I don’t even know if she’s available. We didn’t talk about partners.
Problem is, even if she’s free, I’m not.
At first, when my brothers had started finding their soulmates, I couldn’t understand how they believed one pussy could satisfy them for the rest of their lives, until a certain woman came to the compound. But she could never be mine, she was Rock’s. Becca never had a notion that while she viewed me as a big brother, what I managed to successfully hide from both her and everyone else, was that my feelings for her were far from fraternal. Rock never knew thank fuck, if he had, being his friend wouldn’t stop him putting me six feet under.
I was happy for Rock that he’d found his other half but viewed their relationship with some jealousy. The answer, in my eyes, was to find a good woman for myself. But despite the luck my brothers have had, it seems finding one is like searching for an elusive unicorn.
Before Becca, I was perfectly happy with a variety of pussy in my bed every night. That I was happy to share with my brothers shows I’m not a possessive man. That’s who I am, not a partner or husband. Perhaps Sally and I would never have worked as I’m not the settling down type.
Maybe there’s not a woman out there for me, and maybe I don’t really want one. The thought of being serviced by sweet butts is enough to get my dick to perk up. I can get female companionship from the old ladies in the club. What more do I want?
If God had blessed me with features women admire, maybe my choice would be wider. But he hadn’t, and it’s not.
I have nothing to offer a woman like Stevie except one night in my bed.
But even that’s forbidden, I’m still shackled to Sally by the foolish promise I’d made. I’m a man of my word, but by God it’s going to be hard to keep it.
Stevie’s attractive, no denying that. Probably the type I’d lust after but couldn’t have. She’d step out with someone far better looking—if she could see them. But she’s no sweet butt, and I couldn’t live up to any other type of expectation. I’ve experienced living with a demanding woman once, and I won’t be leaving myself open to that again. Selfishly I suspect there would be even greater challenges with Stevie. Remembering to speak all the time rather than gesturing is one change I already need to make, and I’ve enough difficulty remembering that. I might be tidy—learned that in the army—but hey, I’m a man. Sometimes I leave my boots where I drop them.
Maybe that’s why she’s alone? Perhaps she doesn’t like dealing with anyone else’s shit lying around? I wouldn’t blame her, if untidiness results in her repeatedly falling over and hurting herself.
I like Stevie, but I’ll need to be ruthless. If she’s serious about me spending time in her bed, I’ll have to refuse. Don’t want to raise expectation. But I can be her friend. Seems there’s no one else, so I’ll be there when she needs someone to take her to visit with her dog. Sure, she could take a taxi, but if she’s going to receive bad news, she needs support. I can do that. As long as she respects my boundaries. Friends. Nothing more.
I don’t remember when, or what was my last thought, but eventually, I must have dropped off. When I wake it’s because the door of the guest room opening disturbs me. I sit up fast, my hand reaching for the gun that I keep in my cut as I come around totally disorientated and not knowing where I am.
“Stay there,” she instructs. “Let me put this down. I don’t know how you like it, so I did it like mine, with cream, but no sugar.”
As she comes closer, the welcome aroma of coffee wafts up. I keep still as steadily and surely she makes her way over and places the cup on the bedside table. “It’s half-past-six. I hope that’s not too early for you. I’d like to be there eight on the dot, if you’re still okay with that offer you made last night.”
“No problem, babe. You sleep okay?”
She sits on the side of the bed. Having watched her carefully I read her intentions and shift my ass to accommodate her. “Not really. I tossed and turned worried about Max.” She bites her lip. “I don’t know what I’ll do, Beef, if I lose him.”
She’d come in all composed. My innocent question had brought her worries to the forefront. Immediately I feel guilty. “Babe, let me hold you.” When she doesn’t protest, I put my arms around her and pull her against my naked chest. Her hand touches my pecs.
I don’t even think she’s conscious of it when her hand starts to explore, just like she’d done when she’d been mapping my face.
Then she lifts her hand away. “I’m sorry…”
I place her hand back. “Knock yourself out.” It’s nothing more than a sighted woman checking me out.
Her fingers explore, moving across my chest one side to the other, and down over my muscles. “A six pack?”
I nudge her hand downwards. “Eight.”
“Hmm.” Her mind, for a moment seems to have been taken off her dog. While I’m realising she’s going to stop soon, my cock is getting very interested and swelling in hope of some attention.
But she seems focused on my chest, and now, on my arms. “You’re very big and muscular, Beef. I can see how you got your name.” The same touch from another woman would give me completely the wrong idea. Hers, well, it’s just like someone else staring. As I look down at the tight tee she’s wearing over figure hugging jeans, I’m wishing I could take the same liberty. But feasting my eyes will have to do.
“Are you looking at my tits?” she asks, her voice amused.
“What? No?” I lie. “Why do you ask?”
“Because that’s what men do, isn’t it?”
It feels natural to lean forward and place my lips against her cheek. “You caught me. I may have told a small fib.”
“Have you got tattoos?”
“One or two.” The laughter comes through my voice. There’s not much of my skin that isn’t inked.
“A stereotypical biker?” She smiles. “Describe them?”
“Well, on my back I’ve got a full back patch. It’s the Satan’s Devils insignia, the Devil with a scythe looming over three demons.”
Her smile widens. “I’m picturing it. What else?”
I run through some of my other tats, her hand tracing them as I describe them. “Let’s leave the rest for later.” My cock is currently going mad with her tactile exploration and I’ve got to stop this before I do something stupid like tell her my dick is tattooed.
“Yes.” To my combined relief and disappointment, she stands. “Drink your coffee. Bathroom’s down the hall. Clean towels are in there if you want a shower. I’ll get some breakfast going. Bacon and eggs?”
“Thank you.”
By the time I’m showered and dressed—a quick trip to my bike to grab a clean tee in the saddle bag—she’s got breakfast on the table.
“I did scrambled eggs. Fried can be a bit hit and miss.”
“It’s perfect.” Indeed it is. It might be because I’m extra hungry, but it’s one of the most delicious breakfasts I’ve had. I’m still amazed how she managed to cook it. Intrigued, I ask her.
“By smell,” she replies. Her face completely straight.
“Really?” My eyes widen. “You can tell when something’s cooked by the smell?”
Her head bobs up and down fast. “Yup.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.”
“When I smell smoke, I know it’s overcooked.”
It takes me a second then I roar with laughter. “You’re pulling my leg,” I complain.
“A bit,” she agrees with a smile.
Her smile is even broader when half an hour later we’re allowed to go in and see Max. James takes her to an indoor kennel where Max is lying, tubes and wires attached to him. I’m glad she can’t see them, but James takes her hand and gently traces them with her, explaining the gadgets that monitor his heart rate, and the IV running into his l
eg providing him with sustenance. He explains he’s quiet because of the pain relievers and mild sedative he’s been given to help him keep still.
Stevie’s not the only one over the moon to learn he’s progressing well, and, that if there are no problems today, James will operate on his leg the next morning.
The best bit? Well that was when Max opened his eyes and his tongue came out to lick the hand of his mistress. I had a tear in my eye at that point, which I turned and rubbed discretely away.
We visit for an hour. When she leaves with assurances James will call if anything changes, and a promise that yes, she can visit this evening, all too soon we’re standing in front of her house, and I suddenly don’t want to leave her. She’s easy company, while, apart from Paladin, I have virtual strangers waiting for me at the clubhouse.
“Want me to take you back later?”
“I can’t ask you to do that.”
“You didn’t. I offered.” Watching the sunlight play on her gorgeous hair, highlighting streaks of natural red in it, I know more time in her company would be no hardship at all. “Honestly, babe. I feel invested in Max’s recovery. I’d like to check up on how he’s doing too.”
“Well, if you’re sure. Thanks Beef.” She turns and starts to walk to her door, then takes the same number of steps back. “Beef, look. I’ve had enough pity, strangers thinking I need help. If that’s all you’re doing it for, thank you, but I don’t need it. I’d rather you said it now, then string me along.”
“Stevie,” I trap her hand, partly because I want to feel her skin against mine and partly to stop her from moving away. “Apart from my brothers you’re the only person I know in Pueblo. You said you were new here too. Seems like two newcomers could do worse than spend a bit of time finding out about the place together. I’m not pitying you. Fuck, you know what? It’s the total opposite. I have immense respect and admiration for you. And fuck strangers, you know what? They don’t look beneath the surface. They see me, big fella with tattoos and wearing a cut? They walk the other way. You see me, babe. They think as you’re blind you need help? That’s because their eyes might work, but they don’t see you.”
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